May 3, 2006
Malfoy Manor
The Manor was just as he left it.
Desolate. Barren. Dark.
A shell of the opulent home he had grown up in.
Draco stood in the once grand foyer, staring at nothing in particular and trying not to draw comparisons between the house and his own fall from grace.
He may have been a shell of a man when he lived here but he was no longer that lost, lonely soul floating through life without meaning or purpose. Now he had both in spades and he wasn't going to let these empty walls drag him into their deep depths.
"I'm going to take a look around, you should do the same. Take note of anything that looks different or out of place from how you left it. I'll meet you back here."
Draco wasn't overly enthusiastic to take orders from his former nemesis, especially in his own home. Their rivalry may have been behind them but some habits die harder than others. Draco bit down the automatic retort that lingered on his tongue, opting to walk past the man without acknowledgement instead.
"Always a pleasure." He heard Potter mutter before stepping out of sight into the grand ballroom.
Draco lingered in the foyer, unsure of where to start his inspection. His eyes fell on the empty marble on either side of the main doors where the massive dragon statues once stood tall and interlocking, ebony and white marble, a metaphor for the Malfoy and Black families merging, coming together as one to create new life. The statutes had been his father's gift to his mother when she was pregnant. They already knew it was to be a boy and had finally settled on a name. Draco, their precious baby dragon.
His mother loved those statues. Whether they reminded her more of her husband or her son he didn't know. He had them moved from the manor to her new estate up north. They seemed comically out of place in the warmly decorated country home, but she beamed with happiness when he surprised her with them. He'd fill every square inch of the house with dragon figurines if it made her happy, even for just a moment. She smiled so infrequently these days.
Thinking of the interlocking dragons made him think of Astoria. She had been very adamant that he not get her anything to commemorate her pregnancy. She didn't want a shower or any kind of party. She claimed she didn't want to jinx it. But he knew that was only a half-truth. He suspected she didn't want to become too attached should the pregnancy terminate early or result in another…
Draco closed his eyes, forcing the memory from his mind.
It was this house. It dragged out the darkest things he kept buried within. Not for the first time he wondered if it was truly cursed as so many others claimed it to be. A massive haunted house, filled with ghosts and boggarts to terrorize everyone who dare enter its doors.
Draco opted to go in the opposite direction Potter disappeared. Just as soon as he started walking he halted.
He stood at the entrance to the dining hall.
The chairs had been moved to storage but the long table remained, covered with a magically enlarged sheet so the elves didn't have to exert as much energy casting cleaning and stasis charms during their monthly inspections.
He stared at the fabric-covered tabletop, but in his mind's eye the sheet was gone. In its place was a massive carnivorous snake. The chairs were still there, each one filled with a man or woman more terrible than the next. And at the head of the table sat…
Draco sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.
This house was a plague. He couldn't believe he managed to live here as long as he did after the war. No wonder his mother's health declined so rapidly. It wasn't Lucius's imprisonment; it was being trapped in this waking nightmare. He should have burnt it to the ground years ago.
Maybe he still would.
Draco turned on his heel and retreated, there was no other word for it, into the nearest adjacent room. Any place was better than the dining hall.
That was until Draco's racing mind calmed down enough for him to take in his new surroundings.
And but of course, there he stood in the middle of the drawing room.
Fucking Merlin. Was there no corner of this house that didn't hold horrific memories?
He felt a pang in his chest, rubbing at the spot until it passed. He wasn't sure what caused it. Maybe indigestion from the stress of the day. Yes, that had to be it. Certainly it couldn't be the dark stain on the hardwood, the remains of Granger's blood as it pooled beneath her writhing, screaming form as his aunt-
Draco pinched the bride of his nose, willing the memories away. But the past was stronger in this room. It held him rooted to the spot and frozen, unable to run away to another corner of the house in search of sanctuary.
"Please, please stop! I don't know anything! Please no more!"
"Shut your filthy lying mouth you Mudblood whore!"
Draco swallowed the rising bile in his throat. Dear Circe, make it stop. He wished he had stayed in the dining room. As traumatizing as it was to watch a Hogwarts professor murdered and fed to a massive viper before his adolescent eyes, the horrors he witnessed in this room were far more devastating to his psyche.
Oh you poor sodding pissant, were you traumatized by watching someone else be tortured? I'm sure Granger feels just terrible for bleeding out on the floor while you were busying being useless and pathetic.
But now that he'd spoken her name in his mind there was nothing for it, he was plunged into a swirling abyss of memories that were more vivid than any pensieve he'd encountered.
"What happened to you, Granger?"
Besides the horrific acts I was witness to… What else were you made to endure, what other atrocities did you overcome with your insurmountable strength and bravery?
"I was hit by a pretty rare spell from Antonin Dolohov. It was-"
"Purple fire." Draco whispered to himself in the drawing room, an unwilling passenger on this trip down the rabbit hole of his nightmares.
"Rabastan, fetch me my blade."
"Fetch it yourself you vile bitch."
"How dare you speak to me that way! I'll castrate you myself before starting on that filth in the other room!"
This caught Antonin's attention. He rose to his feet and passed Draco, who was currently doing his best impression of a statue. Frozen, pale and deathly still as he willed himself to sink into the floor.
"What is this? You've a prisoner? Who is it?"
"Go back to learning to scribble your name, Dolohov, this doesn't concern you."
The Russian growled and towered over Bellatrix, dark and menacing. But of course she didn't bat an eye, merely smiled lasciviously and ran her tongue along the top row of yellowed teeth.
"My my Antonin, this pathetic display of testosterone is almost enough to turn me on. If only you could get it up for anything other than disgusting animals. That little Mudblood bitch really has you wrapped around her finger, doesn't she? Perhaps I will do you a favor and cut them all off, freeing you at last."
Antonin made to lunge but a strong arm caught him around the middle, pulling him back.
"Calm down, Antonin. She's provoking you so the Dark Lord will punish you later," Rabastan said to his friend, all the while glaring daggers at his sister in law. "She knows he'll revoke your war prize. As long as you lay claim to the Mudblood she can't be killed."
Bella laughed, high and shrill. "Oh, why is every man in this room more pathetic than the last? My own flesh and blood cowering in the corner like a scared little girl, the big bad Russian falling to pieces over a filthy little beast, and my dear sweet brother in law, unable to cast a simple cruciatus without pissing his pants."
Now it was Dolohov's turn to hold Rabastan back.
"You cunt! That was seventeen years ago! Watch me torture you now, I don't even need my wand, I'll strangle you with my bare fucking hands!"
She laughed harder, throwing her head back and allowing the piercing sound to bounce off the high ceiling and surround them in a cloak of insanity. Draco pulled his real cloak closer to his body but it did nothing to alleviate the cold.
"Very well," she said, turning off the maniacal laughter like a switch, "Since no one in this room is gentleman enough to retrieve my blade I'll get it myself."
She began to cross the room and Antonin followed, fists clenched at his sides to resist the urge to throttle.
"What are you going to do with that blade?"
"I'm going to cut up some vegetables for a nice stew. What the fuck do you think I plan to do?"
"You heard the Dark Lord. He promised her to me. You can't touch her-"
Bella spun around; uncontrolled magic flaring around her and making her long black curls crackle and spark.
"What a selective memory you have, Dolohov. And you all claim I'm the damaged one! The Dark Lord promised what was left of the filthy whore to you when the war is finally won. He never forbade anyone from touching her until then. And he certainly would never forbade me my fun… especially when it can lead us one step closer to ending this."
After Bella exited the room Antonin spun around and punched a hole into the wall, blood exploding across his knuckles as the skin tore. Draco cringed and shrank back further into his corner.
"Calm down. She isn't going to kill the mudblood. She's too valuable an asset against the Order," Rabastan said as he took his seat. "The more worked up you get the more Bella will torture you for it."
"It's not my torture I'm concerned with."
"Don't tell me you're actually concerned for the mudblood?"
"Of course not. But she's mine. I'm the one who gets to punish her, to break her. To make her scream and bleed and beg for mercy. By the time Bella is through working her over her mind will be so broken she'll be no different than the Longbottoms. A limp lifeless doll separated from reality. She'll be of no use to me."
Draco closed his eyes, willing himself to become invisible. But he couldn't block out their voices.
"Even if Bella drives her insane I can still think of a few uses for her."
"That's not the point. She won't be aware of anything that happens. I want to look in her eyes as I break her, mind body and soul. I want to be the last thing she sees as she loses that last piece of hope, that list bit of will power."
Rabastan let out a short laugh. "Fuck! You really do hate that little bitch. I always just assumed you wanted to fuck her ten ways to Sunday."
The Russian grunted as he cast a healing spell on his hand, ignoring the large blood smeared crater in the wall.
"Oh, I still plan on fucking her. But that's not nearly enough for what she did to me. Humiliating me at the Ministry, surviving my curse, altering my memories. I'll teach her the consequences for defying me, for turning a wand against me, for traipsing around in my fucking head! That vile little bitch thinks she's my equal. I'll teach her exactly what her place is… broken, bloody on her knees before me, begging for my mercy, begging for my cock, begging for anything I'm willing to give her because she has nothing left in the godforsaken world to cling to."
The words were spoken with venom but Draco could see the lust and insanity in the man's eyes. The Russian had been obsessed with Granger since the Department of Mysteries. No one had ever survived his purple flames, and yet a sixteen-year-old mudblood managed to overcome his dark magic. It was preposterous. He had to get his hands on her to redeem himself.
After the Death Eaters who were arrested at the Ministry escaped a second time Lucius told Draco how the Russian spent his days pacing his cell, ranting and raving about all the things he planned to do to Potter's Mudblood. It got be quite bothersome after a while. Lucius found the man's obsession in poor taste.
Every man was allowed his fetishes, however filthy they may be, but it was bad decorum to discuss them in mixed company. He told Draco he was allowed to plunder the spoils of their upcoming victory, encouraged even, but to not publicize his excursions with filth as Dolohov did.
After that conversation Draco excused himself to his room and spent a solid twenty minutes emptying his stomach into the toilet.
Then fucking Granger had to go and get herself caught.
He wasn't sure what he wished for her. Was it better to die by his aunt's hand and be spared Dolohov, or to be tortured into insanity so she wasn't aware of all the atrocities she was sure to experience? One thing was for certain; she would not be escaping this night unscathed.
And as much as Draco despised the Mudblood who had the audacity to speak back to him as if they were equals, to receive higher marks as if that made her blood any less filthy, to fucking punch him in the face like a common muggle- Despite their long tumultuous history, he certainly would never wish his aunt or the Russian on her. No one, no matter how inferior, deserved that kind of terror and humiliation.
Just then the evil witch came striding back into the room, dagger glinting from her hand and a silver grin on her face.
"Time for some fun!"
"Bella, I swear-"
"Oh do calm down, Dolly. I promise to leave the best bits for you. I'll just carve up her face; it shouldn't make her any less attractive than she already is. You'll still have plenty of holes to fuck. In fact, I'll even make you some new holes. Don't say I never did anything for you."
Draco choked back the bile rising in his throat, accidentally drawing the attention of the others.
"Oh, Draco, darling, I almost forgot you were standing there. You've been so quiet all night." Her words dripped saccharine sweet, a dark omen for the evil to come.
She slowly paced to where he stood cowering in the corner, praying for the shadows to swallow him whole. But he had no such luck, for in the next moment his aunt reached out her pale bony hand and caressed his cheek in a grotesque parody of motherly affection.
"I have a splendid idea! Draco, you hate the Mudblood as well, don't you?"
He paused; desperately searching his mind for a way out of what he knew was to come but drawing a blank.
"Yes," he relented, numb and emotionless.
"If anyone has cause to see the little bitch bleed it's you. After all she's spent the last six years humiliating you by out performing you in every subject."
He knew his aunt meant to provoke him but he was too dissociated from his mind to feel anything apart from the stiffness of his limbs and rapid beating of his heart.
She must have interpreted his silence as affirmation, because she was suddenly pulling him from his corner and pushing him towards the drawing room.
"Come along, Drakey! I promise you're going to have a ball!"
Draco gasped for air, dragging himself from the dark memory and forcing himself to remain in the present. It was a difficult task, the bloodstain beneath his feet threatening to pull him back in.
"Please, it was a fake, we don't know anything!"
"What a weak pathetic creature you are. I've barely gotten started. And I promise this is nothing compared to what Dolohov has planned for you. I'm doing you a favor by preparing you for your new life. I'm sure Greyback would love to help me. How about I let the beast fuck you for a few hours and give you a break from my blade, hmm?"
"Enough," Draco wheezed, voice ragged from the mental onslaught.
He forced himself to retreat the few steps back to the door and leaned against the frame to regain his bearings.
"Everything okay?"
Draco jumped, not hearing Potter's approach.
"I'm fine."
His words were clipped, a clear declaration to back off. Potter nodded, heeding the warning and looking away from Draco. The only downside was that Potter was now looking into the drawing room, his sharp emerald gaze affixed to the same dark stain on the floor Draco had been rooted to.
Draco wasn't sure what was worse, the dangerous darkening of the man's gaze or his absolute silence. Draco remembered a much more impulsive, vocal boy than the Auror who stood beside him now. He almost wished for the days when Potter would just say what he was fucking thinking so Draco could respond accordingly. The intensity of his stare and solemn silence left Draco feeling raw and defenseless.
Just like Granger felt.
He ignored the dark whisper of his own voice in his mind. It sounded far too accusing for his liking. He couldn't afford to slip into another torrent of memories with Potter flanking him.
"Did you finish inspecting the rooms?"
Potter blinked, breaking the trance he had fallen into and pulling his attention back to Draco.
"Of the downstairs. I was about to head up when I saw you standing here."
The men stared at each other for several long beats. Draco swallowed and moved back from the doorway.
"I'll take the East wing, if you want to start in the West."
Potter nodded once before marching past him, a new purpose to his stride and set to his shoulders Draco didn't notice before.
His defenses are up. But not against this house, against me. Against a former Death Eater who watched his best friend getting tortured within an inch of her life. Against the coward that stood by and did nothing time and time again, leaving it up to him to save the fucking day, Great Savior that he is…
Draco swallowed the thick emotion that overflowed from his chest to his throat, feeling the pressure behind his eyes and blinking against the stale air.
His self-loathing had decreased over the years but he long ago accepted it would never fade away entirely. No matter how much time separated him from his dark past he knew some degree of abhorrence would meet his reflection in the mirror.
But today it was in full force. It wasn't just the memories the house stirred within him, it was that he was forced to relive the endless terror and shame with the Symbol of the Fucking Light at his side. Potter's presence shined a spotlight on the mistakes of Draco's past, making every step deeper into the Manor more crippling than the last.
As they reached the first landing Potter cast another Revelio, despite the fact the wards were still up and running. The ominous atmosphere must be making him paranoid as well.
Good. Draco took comfort in knowing Potter appreciated the danger that could be lurking in these walls no matter how hapless the interior seemed. Best to always have your defenses up. Draco clutched his wand tightly as he split from the Auror, taking the opposite set of stairs to the second level.
The upper levels of the Manor didn't haunt Draco nearly as much. There were mostly bedrooms and parlors, the occasional room of collectables and rare oddities, most of which had been seized by the Ministry for suspicion of dark magic. His father's penchant for cursed objects was well known throughout wizarding society.
Though his aunt and many of the other Death Eaters stayed in guest suites along this floor Draco rarely saw them as he spent the majority of his summer and holiday breaks holed up inside his room, only coming out when summoned by his Father or Master.
His Mother understood his need for sanctuary and never pulled him from it. Instead she took to sleeping in a bedroom adjacent to his. The wing also had a large sitting room where they'd often take their lunch and a library where they could sit and escape reality for a few blessed hours.
In the massive tangle that was the Manor's endless hallways and rooms he found only this wing to be tolerable. It possessed the pleasant memories of his childhood and served as a makeshift sanctuary for him and his mother when they needed it most. Here he could breathe and escape the onslaught of memories so prevalent in the other parts of the house.
Walking into his bedroom brought a sense of nostalgia that almost brought a smile to his lips. Almost. The phantom smell of Granger's blood still lingered in the air, traveling all the way from the drawing room below and stamping out any genuine pleasure or amusement Draco may have felt as he rummaged through his childhood belongings.
He ran his hand over the long handle of his Nimbus 2001 propped against the wall, long forgotten by a teeanger plagued by far darker tasks. Sighing deeply, he set the broom aside and swept his gaze along the room one final time before backing out and closing the door.
As he spun around his breath stopped short. A giant glowing stag stood before him, its head almost to Draco's shoulder and its massive antlers branching several feet higher still. Recognizing the creature Draco exhaled in relief, and then scowled in annoyance as the beast spoke.
"Malfoy, meet me in the far back of the south west wing, I came across a magically sealed door. I'd rather you deactivate the locks than blast it open."
Draco had stormed half way up the hall before fully processing Potter's words. A magically sealed door? Draco pondered the rooms in the southwest wing as he continued his journey. Then he remembered.
Bella's rooms.
A chill ran up his spine.
When the escaped Death Eaters finally arrived at the Manor, caked in filth and raving mad, his mother had inconspicuously assigned them rooms as far from her son as possible. She put her sister the furthest away. Narcissa tried to cover her true intentions by claiming the south west wing provided the most privacy for the married couple. Never mind that Bella cringed away from Rodolphus's touch in the weeks following their escape.
The couple kept separate bedrooms throughout their stay at the Manor, even after she warmed up to his presence. He refused to ponder their sexual relationship, convinced he'd lose his stomach on his way to Potter and really make this evening something to remember.
When he entered the South west wing and saw Potter standing at the end of hall he felt a strong sense of deja vu, which made no sense since Potter never ventured to the second floor during his brief imprisonment, at least to Draco's knowledge. And even if he had made it upstairs Draco had certainly never stood opposite this hall from the man.
Draco quickly shook himself of the odd feeling, as he did with all the other unwelcome feelings the home inspired, and made his way to the Auror's side.
"Which door is it?"
Potter gestured to the wall.
"This one."
Draco blinked.
"Which one?"
Potter raised a dark brow. "The one directly in front of you."
Draco faced forward, staring at the empty wall.
"Potter, I think you've taken one too many Confundus charms to the head."
"What are you talking about? Just open the door, Malfoy."
"How the hell am I supposed to open a door that isn't there?"
The look of anger on Potter's face inspired similar feelings in Draco.
"Listen Malfoy, I don't care what kind of illegal shit you have in the room. I don't care if it's a sex dungeon filled with stuffed animals and deli meat! I just need to see inside to mark it off my list so I can get the fuck out of here."
Draco found himself blinking again, too dumbfounded to retaliate with a scathing remark.
"Stuffed animals and what?"
"Jesus fucking christ, Malfoy, if you don't open the door I'm going to blast it down."
"If you insist on blowing a hole through the fucking wall then have at it! Merlin knows I don't have any sentimental attachment to the architecture. I only ask that you leave enough rubble behind for me to set aflame afterwards. But don't go crying to the Minister that I curtailed the investigation by refusing to unlock a door that doesn't fucking exist!"
In the stillness that followed Draco's outburst he realized just how loud he'd been shouting. He quickly adjusted his shirt cuffs in an attempt to reign in his emotions. How dare Potter try to make him look like a fucking fool? In his own fucking home! What a sodding-
"Malfoy." Potter said slowly, as if Draco wouldn't recognize the sound of his own name. "Are you fucking with me?"
Draco scoffed and opened his mouth to unleash another round of hell when Potter held up his hands in a staying gesture. "Hang on, seriously, Malfoy, look here…"
Potter walked around Draco and laid his hand against the wall, solid and portraitless.
Odd. His mother was a very meticulous decorator, family portraits and tasteful art gracing every hallway in the massive home, evenly spaced along the tall walls. Though Draco had put some of the more surly portraits into storage and migrated the pleasant ones to his mother's new residence he left the majority of hall art hanging. He didn't recall removing a portrait from this wall, and more so the even tone of the wall paper suggested nothing ever hung upon it.
As if sensing Draco's internal ponderings Potter continued, his tone still slow and even as if Draco would strike out at any slight provocation.
"Malfoy, tell me what you see."
Draco didn't understand what Potter was playing at and almost said as much, but the intensity of the man's emerald gaze told Draco that perhaps this wasn't a game at all. The implication made his heart rate increase.
"I see a wall, Potter."
"Just a wall?"
Draco glared and crossed his arms, hoping to quell the rising panic in his gut.
"If I saw an elf riding a thestral over a rainbow I would say as much. I told you, all I see is a bloody wall!"
Potter nodded and dropped his hand, turning to look at said wall with a determination Draco couldn't begin to understand.
"Well," he said casually, raising his wand. "Stand back, Malfoy. Things are about to get interesting."